


Putting Off the Ritz

by CosmicFlora



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Sick!Aziraphale, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 02:53:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19242361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicFlora/pseuds/CosmicFlora
Summary: Aziraphale isn't feeling well and Crowley suspects the reason is something beyond the mundane.





	Putting Off the Ritz

“You have reached the voicemail of A.Z. Fell, bookseller. I am terribly busy at the moment, so please don’t bother to leave a message--”

Crowley was doing his damnedest not to panic. He had planned to meet Aziraphale at their favorite restaurant an hour ago but there was no sign of the angel whatsoever. All of Crowley’s calls to the shop phone and Aziraphale’s mobile had gone unanswered and the demon knew his partner would never stand him up, especially not for lunch at the Ritz. After a few more minutes, he downed his glass of wine and booked it straight for Aziraphale’s shop, trying to ignore his recent memories of the building in flame.

\---

There was no fire when Crowley reached the bookstore, no customers either. More disturbingly, there was no Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale? Where are you? Are you in?” He felt only a little relief when a tremulous voice responded from the back room.

“I'm here, Crowley. Please come in.” Crowley’s long legs brought him to the back in no time and he stared for a moment at the scene. Aziraphale lay flat on his back on the old sofa, his knees drawn to his chest. He looked to be in serious pain.

“I’m late for our date, dearest. I’m terribly sorry.”

“Never mind that. Are you hurt?” The angel slowly shook his head.

“I don’t feel well at all. My stomach…” Crowley knelt beside him and stroked his arm comfortingly.

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure, I…” Aziraphale swallowed thickly. “I received some new acquisitions and was rearranging the books when suddenly I just felt terribly ill. I can’t really describe it but I needed to lie down and now I can’t get up.” The explanation seemed to drain him and the angel covered his eyes with a shaking hand. “I would have called you. I knew you’d be worried.”

Crowley felt his partner’s forehead and ran his fingers gently down his cheek. Aziraphale was pale and clammy but didn’t seem feverish.

“You think it was something you ate?”

“No, I haven’t eaten anything today. I was so looking forward to lunch with you.” The angel was getting distressed and Crowley wracked his brain to come up with something helpful. He laid a hand on the soft curve of Aziraphale’s tummy, fingers spread wide as if to sense what was amiss.

“I suppose you already tried to miracle the sick away.” Aziraphale hummed miserably to the affirmative. “Want me to make you some tea?”

“You are a dear, but I don’t think I could keep anything down.”

Crowley stood and paced the small backroom pensively. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, so it came as a real surprise when he felt a strange Something. There was something distinctly evil in here, something Crowley had never before sensed in Aziraphale’s little haven. Aziraphale, watching from the sofa, had to ask:

“What is it Crowley?”

“You said you just got some new books, right?”

“Well, yes. They’re stacked just there.” Following Aziraphale’s finger, Crowley marched over and lifted an ancient looking tome from the top of the pile, eyebrows lifting at the malevolent miasma emanating from it. Oh yes, this was definitely it. “You don’t think there’s something wrong with them?”

“Something that doesn’t agree with angels anyway.”Crowley turned the book over in his hands. One wouldn’t think that **_The Pious Tales of Saint Bilious IV_** could contain anything demonic, but there was really only one way to find out. He exchanged a look with Aziraphale, who nodded assent. He stepped closer to the angel, book outstretched, and the effect was immediate. Aziraphale went white as a ghost, retching, and clutching his stomach.

“Sorry, sorry,” Crowley said, quickly taking the book away. “Had to be sure.”

“Oh that’s such a disappointment,” Aziraphale groused, collapsing back onto the sofa. “The works of St. Bilious are notoriously difficult to find.”

“I don’t think it’s the book, Angel. Lookie here.” Flipping through the pages, Crowley’s long fingers withdrew a square of parchment no larger than an index card, covered in ominous looking scrawls. “Looks like some prankster decided to slip a love letter to Satan in here.” That wasn’t precisely accurate but all that mattered to Crowley was that it was making his angel sick. He summoned a spot of hellfire into his palm and the parchment was instantly consumed to ash. Aziraphale instinctively drew back until the offensive thing had disappeared completely.

“Of all the devilish things to do! But how clever of you to find it, Crowley.” The demon grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

“It was nothing. How are you feeling now?”

“Oh much better,” Aziraphale replied with a smile. He was already regaining some color to his cheeks. The angel sat up, perhaps a little too quickly, and swayed. Crowley rushed forward and wrapped an arm around him before he could tip too far.

“Are you sure about that?” Aziraphale laughed softly, embarrassed.

“I suppose I’m still feeling a bit woozy. I’m sorry, dear. I don’t think I could manage a meal today.”

“No worries,” Crowley said, giving him a light squeeze. “Why don’t we have a day in? I’ll fix some tea and maybe a bit of toast for you?” Aziraphale beamed, clearly pleased with the idea.

“You really are too good to me. You even saved my book.”

“You can thank me by picking a movie. Anything but ‘Sound of Music’.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

\-----

I couldn’t tell you what movie they settled on. Aziraphale’s only TV was an aged thing that only played in black and white and cut to static more often than not but nobody minded.

Crowley fixed tea and toast for Aziraphale and conjured a bag of jammy dodgers for himself before settling in, Aziraphale happily resting his head on his shoulder. The demon pretended not to notice when his angel snuck one of the biscuits, and if you called him out for nudging the bag closer to Aziraphale, he would call you a liar.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I just joined this fandom and now that's two fics in a week. Somebody save me, I'm back on my b/s. I just love these two dorks.


End file.
